


No Such Thing as Unimportant

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Gen, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: In which Maglor does not drop neatly out of the narrative.





	No Such Thing as Unimportant

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Tolkien's work.
> 
> This was my very first Silmarillion fic. I'm finally crossposting it from Tumblr.

Maglor would have absolutely run away from the refugees if he had realized how close they were. Unfortunately, even he has to sleep sometime.

Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on who you ask - the ones that see him first are those of the few remaining Feanorian supporters, who swore to Celebrimbor for lack of other options. They recognize their lord instantly, and quickly move to shield him from sight. They’re thrilled to find him.

Maglor is … less thrilled, although happy someone else is still alive.

Right up until he learns exactly what’s happened to his nephew.

Apparently, all of Curufin’s careful plotting and pushing was for nothing, because their house is just _that cursed_ even if Celebrimbor has forsworn it.

… Although looking at just how many of his father’s stars are stamped on everything, Maglor really has to wonder just how disowned Celebrimbor considers himself to be.

Regardless. As eager as Maglor is to avoid everyone, he can’t just leave someone in his family in the hands of the enemy. Not after - Just. Not again. 

After all, here’s a situation that he can hardly make worse.

 

To his surprise, his rescue attempt actually works. Partially because his song craft is even more powerful for a few centuries continuous practice, partially because his sword work is still excellent, and partially because literally no one thought he would show up.

Celebrimbor spends most of the frantic flight to Elrond’s camp thinking Maglor is a hallucination. Maglor lets him think it, mostly because it lets him avoid the awkward conversation that would no doubt otherwise ensue.

(He tries not to think about Celebrimbor still calling him uncle. If his nephew wasn’t delirious with pain, no doubt he would be calling him far worse things.)

It’s easier than it should be to sneak into Elrond’s camp. It’s mainly because when you’re carrying someone as injured as Celebrimbor, most of the questions you get asked aren’t about names.

Maglor stays just long enough to know his nephew will live. And possibly to catch a glimpse of Elrond. Just a quick one.

But that’s it. He’s done. No more great deeds.

Well. He’ll fight orcs if they invade his beach. Or pirates. Or robbers. But that’s it.

 

For a long time, it really is. Until the wave.

He can’t stop the wave. But he can help some of the smaller boats by singing them safely to land. He can certainly help the dark haired boy that looks a little bit like Elros recover from his concussion, and if the wrong name slips out from time to time, well. He’s an elf. People expect him to give out names.

(Later, Elrond and Celebrimbor will be very, very interested in just who the boy’s mysterious savior was and where, exactly, it was that he last saw him.)

 

But that’s it. Really. Just the orcs.

Particularly the large crowd of them that are coming perilously close to overwhelming two dark haired elven twins.

The fury is instinctive, his skills kept sharp by the periodic skirmish. His attack is devastating and turns the tide.

The twins insist he return with them to their lord. Maglor doesn’t know how far they’ll press the issue, and he really doesn’t want to find out. He might as well go with them. He’s not as averse to facing justice as he might once have been.

Their lord - and father - as it turns out, is Elrond.

 

One of the twins loans Maglor his cloak and suggests he might want to put the hood up. Maglor assumes this is a precaution to make sure no one in the place they’re taking him notices him and starts a riot.

(Later, when he knows both them and the situation in Rivendell better, he will know that this was done for the sake of drama. Apparently, that’s still running strong in this family.)

After they ride through the gates, he starts seeing an eight pointed star and for a wild moment, he thinks it’s his father’s sigil. Then he notices the lack of rays, and he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. This is a completely different sigil. Obviously.

Then they pass a small metal gate that guards the way to a garden that _does_ have the Feanorian star on it, and he freezes, just for a moment.

The twins notice his distraction. “Cousin Celebrimbor made that,” Elladan says helpfully.

_Cousin - ?_

He had hoped Celebrimbor still lived, but he had known better than to think it fact; the world was a dangerous place, and their family didn’t have the best luck within it. But he had left Celebrimbor with Elrond, which meant - 

Then the twins are the ones to stop and slide off their horses, and Maglor automatically follows their example because he’s certainly in no position to think right now because that’s Elrond, right there, and part of him wants to run, and part of him wants this moment, where Elrond looks happy and content and has not yet seen him, to last forever.

“Ada!” Elrohir says cheerfully. “Guess what we found!”

Elrond looks amused. “Something better than more orcs to slay, I take it.”

Maglor can think of a number of people who would disagree with that, but Elladan is already dragging him forward and saying, “Far better. Although perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he found us.”

Elrond’s attention turns fully to him for the first time, and the cloak’s hood is not deep enough to protect Maglor from that gaze. The amusement vanishes immediately and his eyes go very wide.

Maglor’s heart aches. Of course he has just brought more trouble into Elrond’s life. Of course this sweeping relief that the other is still alive and this side of the sea is not mutual. Of course he should have stayed away -

That last thought is cut off by suddenly having his former foster son clinging to him as if the Everlasting Darkness will drag Maglor away if he dares to let go.

Maglor returns the embrace more cautiously, scarcely daring to believe this is happening. 

“Ada,” Elrond chokes out. “You’re here.” He pulls back a bit, just enough to demand, “How in Arda did they convince you to come?”

“They said their lord had given them standing orders that if found I was to be brought back. I presumed they meant Gil-Galad was still seeking justice - “

Elrond’s face falls into something more solemn. He shakes his head. “Gil-Glad is long fallen.”

“Then you are the High King now?” He supposes he should probably bow if that is the case, though it is hard to imagine young Elrond High King of all the Noldor.

“No,” Elrond says very firmly and very hastily. “There is no High King this side of the sea, not now.”

One of the twins makes a quickly aborted sound of amusement, and Maglor suspects this is a point Elrond has had to make before. The other -

The other twin is gone, he realizes, and the old instinctive panic from whenever Elrond or Elros went missing rises quickly, but no, the lands are safer now, and Elrond’s lands moreso than most. It is fine, there is no need for concern … 

Especially as he is reappearing now. With a protesting Celebrimbor. 

“I was right in the middle of a project,” his nephew is saying, and then his eyes too go wide, and he is flying forward. “Uncle!”

This is not quite the reception Maglor was expecting, but he is far too relieved to see his nephew well and whole to worry about that overmuch.

Elladan and Elrohir corner him later. “You will stay, won’t you?” Elladan says. “He hasn’t been this happy since Mother left.”

And. Well. He ought to leave. The Oath, though faded, still tugs at him at him sometimes, and it is not as though he is not still doomed, and he has certainly not earned the happiness that would come from quietly slipping into life at Rivendell. On the other hand, as Maedhros can attest - or, could, once - Maglor has never been good at denying Elrond anything that makes him happy. 

“If you say no and slip away, we’ll just follow you around until you change your mind,” Elrohir says, and _no,_ Elrond’s sons are not following him anywhere lest the Doom decide to take a painfully literal turn when it comes to “followers.”

“If my presence begins to cause trouble, I shall leave,” he compromises.

“It won’t,” Elladan says with what is probably unwarranted confidence. “Has anyone sent word to Arwen yet? She’ll want to know. Our sister,” he explains to Maglor. “She’s staying with Grandmother at the moment - on our mother’s side, obviously - “

Maglor winces. Elrohir elbows his brother pointedly.

“Your grandmother … ?” Maglor asks, trying to move past the awkward moment. He doesn’t know quite what Elrond has told his children about their family’s … complicated … history.

“Lady Galadriel,” Ellrohir says. 

Oh. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance the news can wait until your sister returns in her own time?” Maglor tries without much hope of success. If they send a message now, there is very little chance his cousin won’t learn that he is still alive, and he’s not at all certain he’s ready for that confrontation.

“Arwen would never forgive us,” Elladan says instantly.

Maglor has a hard time seeing just why she would be quite so eager to meet her kinslaying foster-grandfather and very distant cousin, but he can hardly claim to know her better than her brothers.

At least if Galadriel decides another kinslaying is in order, it won’t be entirely his fault this time.


End file.
